Everything Goes Black
by Ibelieveinsam
Summary: S10 AU: Sam wasn't going to stop, even if his brother was a demon, even if his arm was mangled.
1. A Minute To Heal

A/N: Well here it is, as promised, my season 10 fic, such a contrast to the last fic I posted as this is quite a bit darker. I started this before season 10 began so it was my view of how the events would go. Of course now it's pretty much AU. I did incorporate some elements of what I knew of the plot at that time such as Sam would do some "dark" things to save Dean and he had an injured shoulder. I also ended up adding in the aspect of the note Sam found but you'll see my interpretation is a bit different than the show. Also, there is a character that appears in this chapter that might seem similar to another but it's purely coincidental.

A/N 2: The title of the fic comes from the song Everything Goes Black by Skillet. I'm pretty proud of this fic because I put a lot into it. I'm also nervous about it too in regards to how I portrayed the characters and if people will like it. I have to admit it was so much fun getting inside Sam's headspace though. A lot of the time, Sam ends up hurt in my fics so his POV might not be as dominant. I find his POV lacking the in the show much of the time too, which is a shame.

A/N 3: I want to give a special shout out to my friends Melanie and Elena on Twitter as we discussed some of the elements in this fic being included in the show. Elena, I also hope Elektra is doing better :)

Everything Goes Black

_"__I need a minute now to heal_

_I need a minute now to remember how to feel"-_Skillet

If there was one thing that he was successful at, it was the art of failure. If the old adage rang true that practice makes perfect, he surely had practiced enough to know he had it down. He knew what it was like to shoot for the moon, give it your all, but still always come up short, but not short on failure. Failure he could do. Sadly though, when he came up short, he ended up taking people down with him. He also knew he had no one to blame but himself. Sure, he always felt like his choice and free will were often not his own but he knew there should be some way he could change things.

As a kid, he often felt powerless. He felt impure, not good enough, and deep down he was right. He had been tainted with demon blood as a child so from the start he would always fail at being "normal." He gave it a good go though, trying to make the most of it even when they were out hunting, but his choices were not his own. If he wanted to stay at school and finish out a school year, he was quickly dragged back out on the road by his father. When he begged and pleaded to attend his high school graduation, he found himself in the high school office collecting his diploma and saying a hasty goodbye. Finally though, he had thought he had achieved autonomy when he was accepted into Stanford, but then he quickly failed at that too, later even finding out that a plan had been put in place for him. His friends were quite possibly all demons in disguise and he was just being led to his dark destiny. He watched his one chance at normal go up in smoke literally, as his girlfriend burned on the ceiling above him. Then it was time to hit the road again. However, being back out on the road with Dean, his brother, well he couldn't call that a failure, could he?

He couldn't call it a success either, because he had failed his big brother over and over again. Even when he was so sure he could make things right, ultimately he failed. He chose goodness and was stabbed in the back, forcing his brother into an impossible deal. Then he knew he could save Dean, just as he had saved him, but he failed. Again. Dean was torn to shreds in front of him, yet by some miracle he got him back. Then he wanted so much to make him proud, use his dark powers for good, save people, stop a frigging apocalypse, yet he was just a pawn in a game. A failure. The look of betrayal on Dean's face was hard to shake but again he knew he could make it right.

"I'm the least of you," he said when he made his choice to jump into that pit. He meant every word. His life certainly was far less important than anyone else's. He remembered the feeling when he wrested control from Lucifer, the sheer joy that he had finally won. Then as he leaped into that hole, arms spread wide, there was no fear at what awaited him, just a feeling of freedom, as he freefell, the air rushing through his ears. In the end, even that wasn't enough, sacrificing everything was ultimately a failure. He was brought back, without his soul, without what inherently made him who he was, a deeply flawed but still human being, instead reduced to a mere automaton acting on instinct, killing on a whim. The memories were hard to live with, hard to accept but he did accept them because he wasn't leaving his brother alone out there, and maybe, just maybe his brother still believed in him.

Finally he had taken on the trials and he was ready to lead Dean to that light because there was no way Dean was sacrificing himself for him again, but he didn't know then that he would get so ill, didn't know how many more lives would be lost as Crowley fought back and murdered Sarah right in front of him. He was sure just before she died that he saw a look of condemnation flicker in her eyes as the light went out and burn right through him. Yet, somehow he carried on.

"I think we can win this," he had said, and yet again, despite his track record he had hope that they could. Then as he drained his own blood, finally breaking through Crowley's demonic wall, he could feel the life also draining out of him. He was ready to die. Was he suicidal? No, just willing to make that sacrifice to close hell for good, to not let Dean down anymore, to let Dean see he could be trusted, to make up for his greatest sin. But he failed at that too. He'd chosen to live, for his brother but neither knew it was too late already, too much damage had been done to his body. As he collapsed in that church, he knew deep down that he was going to die but damn it if this time he wasn't going to do it right.

He asked Death to make it permanent this time. "No one can reverse it, no one can deal it away, and no one else gets hurt because of me," he requested of Death.

However, asking Death to just let him stay dead was just another failure to add to his list. He had been brought back, again a puppet on a string, ending lives. He wondered what Kevin thought as he saw someone he trusted approach him and then ultimately end his life. Did he think he had been betrayed? He wondered if Kevin was even shocked. Maybe for Kevin, it was an in character thing for Sam to do, betray, fail, let people down, let people die. Sure seemed in character to him.

Now Dean was dead too. Well he was, a result again of his trusty ball and chain of failure. He might as well have stabbed him himself. However, true to form, Sam wasn't going to stop, even if his brother was a demon, even if his arm was mangled.

ooooo

Sam Winchester sat, shirtless, on the edge of a gurney in the stark, curtained off cubicle of the local ER, lost in thought about his past transgressions. He shivered and attempted to make himself comfortable but it was impossible. It seemed he was too large for his surroundings or maybe they were just too small for him. It certainly seemed that way as he felt a sudden surge of claustrophobia. He edged his way backwards on the meager hospital bed but still he seemed precariously close to the edge, like he might fall off. It seemed this feeling pervaded his life lately. He was so close to the edge, as if just one little push and he'd be falling off the side of the Earth. He tried to level out his breathing as a nurse thrust the curtain aside and stepped in.

Sam grimaced and held on to his arm for dear life. The pain was unbearable and he felt if he didn't hold on tight, his arm might detach itself from his body. It dangled uselessly from his shoulder and any movement, no matter how minute, sent spikes of fire rippling from the top if his arm to his fingertips.

"How you doing sweetie?" She asked, in a perky voice.

Sam bit his lip, and grunted in response.

"Is the pain that bad?"

Sam nodded, his head suddenly heavy as the pain made him light headed. He felt himself pitching forward but then the nurse was by his side, trying to help him lean back on the bed.

"I'm sorry but it's a madhouse in here," she admitted. "The doctor is taking longer than expected. Why don't I see if I can just go get you something for the pain? Is there anyone I can call for you? Do you have family?"

"A brother," Sam said in response.

"Can you give me his number?"

"No, he's…sick," Sam hesitated. "But he's going to get better," Sam asserted. "He's tough."

The nurse stopped and looked at him sadly before she rushed off.

As far as Sam was concerned, Dean _was_ sick. He wasn't in his right mind. Finding out Dean was a demon had been easy or well, not that easy if his shoulder was any indication. He recalled with terror the moment he returned to Dean's room to find him gone. Bodies didn't just disappear, or more importantly _brothers _didn't just vanish completely.

How could this happen? Just before that he had cleansed his brother's wounds, tenderly laying him in his bed as if it were his tomb. Then he had torn the bunker apart, flinging books and flipping tables because the emotion he felt was just too overpowering that he had to do something to release it, even if it meant being destructive. That's when he had first injured his shoulder, perhaps even before that. He had carried Dean away from his murder scene, the unbearable encumbrance of the deadweight of his brother and the excruciating burden of loss and grief rested squarely on his shoulders, flooding his insides like a tsunami. He had a twinge in his arm then, but all the furniture strewn around him like a hurricane had struck the bunker was what did him in.

He relished the pain that spread through his arm and body then because it took his mind off the mental anguish. However, nothing could have prepared him for when he returned to keep vigil by his dead brother's side, only to find he wasn't there. He knew instinctively something terrible had happened to Dean and he was going to find him this time. This wasn't going to be like when Dean had vanished right in front of him before, when he had fallen to pieces so quickly, let fear blind him so much that he couldn't bring Dean home because he knew deep down he'd fail him again, end up unknowingly causing the end of the world just like before.

The nurse returned with a syringe full of medicine and Sam debated whether he should let her give it to him.

"Is it strong?" He asked.

"Honey, based on how pale you are, I think you need strong," she said, with a chuckle.

"Then I don't want it," Sam said, shaking his head. The movement caused the pain to flare in his arm, and he squeezed back tears from his eyes.

"Why on Earth would you say that?" She asked, puzzled.

"Please, just forget it," Sam replied, his eyes still clenched shut as he made snorting sounds through his nose to control the pain.

She left him then and Sam was grateful. He needed his mind clear. He didn't want to be here anyway, had seriously debated coming to the hospital at all. However, he knew he needed his arm working if he was going to be able to save Dean. He finally knew where to find his brother and the faster he got to him the better.

Dean had left a note. It read: _Just let me go Sammy_. Deep down though, Sam doubted that Dean was the one who had written it. It was a clever forgery and the handwriting did look suspiciously like Dean's but there was still something off about it. There was something lacking, a certain spark, much like how he saw Dean with the mark of Cain. Dean looked like Dean but his vitality, so much of what made Dean his big brother was gone.

Sam knew that if Dean didn't write the note, then someone else had.

_Crowley._

The mere thought of his name made Sam seethe with rage. His anger was enough to distract him from the piercing pain that ripped through his shoulder.

"Here you go," the nurse said, returning. She had a new syringe with her. "I doubt this will even put a dent in the kind of pain you must be in but it's the mildest painkiller we have," She finished, plunging the syringe into Sam's vein.

Sam sat stalwart on the gurney, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

"Would you like a blanket? You look chilled."

Sam shook his head no. She looked stricken and he wasn't purposely trying to be dismissive of her but he didn't deserve special treatment, definitely not after what he'd done in the name of finding his brother. Would Dean still say "I'm proud of us" when he found him? He doubted that very much as he felt the remorse just as tangibly as the pain in his arm. However, at the moment, there was no time to get lost in the past. He had to focus on the task at hand which was getting Dean back.

He watched the nurse, Melanie, retreat, apparently sensing he didn't want to talk. He had read her nametag so at least maybe he could address her accordingly. She had kind eyes, and he could tell by the way she looked at him that she felt sorry for him. Here he was a mess of scabs and bruises in various shades of color. Her eyes were definitely different than the ones staring back at him from the mirror above the sink from across the room, also inherently different than the two black orbs that replaced the green eyes that he knew so well that Dean now flashed. He recalled the first time he had seen Dean's eyes go black and it was as if it wasn't his brother at all. He had almost lost his bearings.

Once Dean had disappeared, Sam had made it his quest to find Crowley, one demon at a time. He wasn't malicious at first but with each passing week, he'd grown less "sensitive." He refused to believe the first demon that caved and revealed that Dean was a demon. _No, his brother couldn't be that._ However, as time went on, pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place revealing a disturbing image. He scoured the internet finding reports of murdered humans and hunters, demonic signs covering the area. That's when deep down he knew, yet didn't dare to admit it.

He had donned his FBI uniform and went to investigate, following his brother's trail, interviewing witnesses who described Dean perfectly. He found himself cleaning up crime scenes, "accidentally" losing evidence, wiping fingerprints, anything to protect his brother. He knew his brother's hands were dirty, but no more filthy than his own.

The last demon he interrogated was when he had hit paydirt or when he'd gone off the rails, depending on which way you saw it. That was how he had injured his shoulder again.

He'd pinned the guy down in an alley. He was wearing the meatsuit of a middle aged small business owner who supported a family of six as he kindly reminded Sam, also a chance to gain leverage.

He almost got him in a devil's trap when he got the drop on him, punching Sam several times landing blow after blow, in his face and his ribs. Sam's reflexes were not so swift, considering his shoulder was still not one hundred percent but the demon took advantage of this, twisting Sam's arm behind his back so hard that Sam had felt the pop. His injured shoulder had finally went out completely. Then the demon had wrapped his arm around Sam's throat, almost cutting off his breathing but Sam had stomped on his foot, whipped around and elbowed him in the mouth with his good arm, finally overpowering him and placing the bunker's cuffs on him, the ones Crowley once wore. He did some quick triage on himself and managed to get his shoulder back in place. He ignored the pain and then carted the demon off to an abandoned warehouse so he could interrogate him properly. He was never the type to enjoy torture. Even when it was necessary for the job, it still repulsed him on some level. However, the way the demon spat at him sent him teetering right over the edge.

"How's it feel that your brother is now one of us?" The demon said with a snide laugh. "You humans with your holier than thou attitudes aren't immune are you? Bet it keeps you up at night that you couldn't stop it. Huh?"

That's when he had plunged the knife soaked in holy water in the demon's leg and he screamed. Sam didn't flinch.

"Hitting a little too close to home, am I?" He asked. "So much potential lost. Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood, our leader. Look at him now."

"Where is my brother?" Sam barked.

"Shouldn't you know? Aren't you your brother's keeper?"

Sam slashed him until blood dripped down the handcuffs. He didn't even hear the screams anymore. Normally this was when he'd send the demon packing and send an anonymous tip to get the host some help. However, Sam knew that this one had intel on Crowley. The demon he had tortured before this one had let him know. That's how his quest had been, an endless game of telephone where he gleaned bits of information from each demon, each tidbit made him one step closer to finding his brother.

"He spent so much time wiping your snot nose, preventing you from becoming one of us and this is how you return the favor?" The demon continued, as he spit blood. "You let him be turned and this is how you think you can make it right?" The demon asked, continuing relentlessly. "Bet he saw this whole situation in reverse. You the demon, and him coming to your rescue."

"Where is Dean?" Sam yelled.

"He's dead to you."

Sam then went nuclear, punching the demon over and over until his knuckles bled.

"Tell me what you know," Sam said finally, holding the demon blade to his throat.

"Crowley," the demon whispered, finally giving up. "Phoenix. Their last location was a motel on the outskirts of town."

Sam had what he needed and was about to read the exorcism spell.

"Guy has a bad ticker," the demon hissed through bloody teeth. "He wasn't doing so hot by the time you found me. Now after this, it's over. Once I'm gone so is he."

Sam hesitated for a moment, but he knew he couldn't just let the demon get away. He read the Latin and watched as the black cloud of demon smoke flew up into the air above his head. The host fell to the ground lifelessly. Sam stared at the man's body, knowing that calling for help this time was useless. He saw him then, really saw him. A human being. The man was dead. He thought of his six children, how he'd be missing_ like Dean was_, how underneath those black eyes was a living breathing human being, _just like Dean was_. Then he made the anonymous tip. There was no need to let his loved ones not know what had happened. The not knowing was the worst part. He knew that implicitly.

_Why does everything have to be so damn hard?_ He wondered. He wanted to save Dean more than anything but the stakes and the price were always so damn high. How did saving people equate to so many lives lost?

Sam had managed to track Crowley and Dean to Phoenix but someone else had done the same thing. He was a hunter named Jackson and Dean had killed his brother.

He recalled the moment in the barroom when he saw Dean from across the room. He knew Dean saw him too and he gave him a trademark smirk He had locked eyes with Dean's and looked into the cold, shadowy abyss. Everything went black. The walls around him vanished and he was bathed in darkness. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before and it took every fiber of his being to snap himself out of it. That was when Sam truly knew and accepted that Dean was a demon even though a part of him still wanted to stay in denial.

He saw Jackson then following Dean around. Sam could tell he was new to the game by his obvious stalking of his prey. He knew in all likelihood that the guy was going to get himself killed. However, there was no reasoning with him. This guy was hellbent on revenge, blinded by it. Sam knew that motivation all too well. Kid was smart though and had drawn a devil's trap, clearly having done his research. He also was armed with holy water. Sam saw Crowley abandon Dean then, obviously loyalty not one of his strongsuits. Dean was pinned where he stood as Jackson threw the holy water at his brother.

"Stop!" Sam screamed as he saw Dean's skin sizzle and burn. He couldn't bear to watch his brother be hurt like that.

Dean laughed hollowly over the whole situation and Sam couldn't get past how Dean's contagious chuckle was now gone too.

"Stand down!" Sam yelled again while Jackson looked at him like he was nuts.

"This thing killed my brother! Bastard slit his throat like it meant nothing."

"You don't understand," Sam said. "It's not what you think."

"What I think is he's a demon and it's time to kill him," Jackson raised a rifle.

Sam wondered why Jackson thought that would be effective and if maybe he'd been watching episodes of The Walking Dead in between his research on devil's traps. However, Sam felt something deeper, as if he was straddling two sides of the road. Deep down he knew how Jackson felt, to have his brother stolen from him. Yet, Dean was _his_ brother and he couldn't have Jackson take him out. Sam had no clue what a rifle shot would do to his brother's body but he wasn't taking the chance.

"Look, Dean is not himself right now. He's my brother."

"That thing is your brother?" Jackson asked incredulously. "So you're a monster too."

Sam felt the sting of the words, realizing they weren't too far off from the truth. It was his fault that the demon possessed family man was dead.

Jackson looked away from Sam then and continued to point the gun at Dean, his finger on the trigger.

Sam could tell no matter what he said, Jackson was going to take his shot so then Sam had did the unthinkable, the opposite of everything he was trained to do. He broke the devil's trap. Jackson also jumped him at the moment, taking the rifle butt and striking him across the face. He saw Dean glance back at him out of the corner of his eye, and he longed to see signs of gratitude from Dean, his protective instincts kick in, any inkling that his brother was still there, but he just took off running without a second glance.

Again, Sam was a lot weaker then he once was and his mind was occupied. Usually he'd have the guy pinned down in a second but his stupid shoulder screwed him again. He managed to disarm him though, even as he tasted blood from his cut lip. However, Jackson once again regained the upper hand. He put on brass knuckles and punched him several times, splitting his cheek and eyebrow. Sam felt blood dripping down his face, into his eyes, blinding him. Then Jackson grabbed his shoulder, wrenching it so hard that this time Sam knew the damage was irrevocable. Sam felt the anger swirl inside him like a typhoon because he knew he was going to be frigging useless if he was hurt like this. Then Jackson pulled out a pistol that he had strapped to his ankle and put it to his head. Sam acted swiftly using this to his advantage and thrusting his body against Jackson's arm, knocking the gun out of his hand. The weapon skittered away across the ground. Regaining his footing and relying only on his functioning arm, Sam landed blow after blow on Jackson. He punched him one last time, hitting him so hard that he launched backward and his head bounced off the concrete. The resounding thud was what finally brought him to his senses.

_What have I done?_ Sam thought, horrified. He looked down at Jackson's lax features. He couldn't be more than 25 years old, Sam realized. He was just a kid, looking out for his brother and he'd killed him.

Sam bent down, clutching his injured arm and felt for a pulse, relieved when he found one.

"Hey man, you okay?" Sam asked, tremulously, giving his arm a shake. However, Jackson just laid there, a small pool of blood forming under his head. Sam was shaking like a ship in a storm that lost its mooring but he managed to pull out his cellphone and dial 911. Again, his tip was anonymous. He waited there with Jackson until he heard the sirens drawing even closer and then he took off in a sprint.

He found an empty doorway and promptly threw up his stomach contents which weren't much considering he'd barely been eating.

He couldn't believe he'd let himself snap like that on an innocent human being. He'd never killed a human, at least not when he wasn't under any supernatural influence and he was pretty sure that Jackson was going to die with the way he'd knocked his brain around in his skull. He felt the pain in his arm then and knew it was dislocated for a second time. He smashed it into the brick wall in front of him to get it back into place. It took several tries and he bit down into his lip so hard that blood dribbled down his chin. He finally felt like he had it in place but he knew he'd heard a snap somewhere and then the pain crippled him, sending him to his knees.

He let the tears flow then, not knowing if they were for himself, for Dean, or for Jackson. Everything was so hopeless it seemed. Dean had barely acknowledged him. That had never happened once in his lifetime that he could remember. Dean always acknowledged him even if it was words of anger. He'd take pissed off Dean any day over dismissive Dean.

He just stayed there, practically a crumpled heap when suddenly his phone rang and he saw Dean's name on the screen giving him a sudden burst of hope.

"Hello Moose."

"Crowley?" Sam growled.

"Yes, none other. I expect your brother left you lying there bleeding, did he not?"

"No," Sam said, angrily. "He got away."

"Well either way, I expect you're a sobbing mess. Anyway, I need a favor."

"What?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"I give you Dean's location and you find him and change him back. Then you can share a hug, a brotherly moment, continue with your codependency issues, whatever you want to do."

Sam seethed but didn't answer.

"Caught your attention eh?" Crowley responded.

"Why would you do that? Isn't that you doing me a favor?" Sam asked, logically.

"You say potato. I say po-tah-to. Doesn't matter how you put it. Why wouldn't I do it? Don't you think I'm Team Winchester? Sam and Dean all the way?"

"Not a chance," Sam scoffed.

"Caught me there but you're brother needs to be stopped. He's out of control. It's either the mark or being bad just feels so damn good to him. If I'm to cut to the chase, I don't need the competition."

"Competition?" Sam almost laughed. Was Crowley seriously telling him that he couldn't handle his brother?

"Yes. I thought we were comrades after he got rid of Abbadon but seems he thinks he can now unseat me from my throne. Dean is gaining more followers than Justin Beiber. Now I have you out there cutting away at my followers who keep folding like cheap lawn chairs."

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack. So will you do me a solid?"

"I was going after him anyway and I then I am coming after you."

"Aww Moose, you promise?" Crowley laughed. "You know, your brother promised the same thing about you, that he was going to find you eventually and kill you. I actually did you a favor with that note I left so you owe me."

"Dean would never say that," Sam asserted, gritting his teeth.

"Oh believe me. He did and you're lucky I gave you the abridged version. As soon as he found out you were looking for him, he got shall we say, a bit graphic? You know we've shared a lot, your brother and I? We are practically brothers now ourselves."

Sam couldn't describe the way his throat constricted or his stomach spasmed but he kept himself in check.

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

"Because he's got the fever and I gots the cure," Crowley sing songed, 'Thought you were the only one who could cure a demon did you?"

"What are you talking about? I will cure him," Sam vowed.

"Did you ever stop to think that the mark might cause a bit of a problem? It's what turned him in the first place. You might be gigantor but I guess the brain is not. What do you think feeds the demon in Dean? As long as he wears the mark, he will remain a demon."

"I'm listening," Sam said, even though he wanted nothing more than to hang up, find Crowley and make him eat his words.

"Abel," Crowley said simply. "You need to talk to Abel. You and Dean are the ying and yang of each other and you can't have Cain without Abel. Find Abel and I'll tell you where you can find Dean."

"Just like that?" Sam questioned. "Sounds too easy Crowley."

"Well for now it is. You're it, but you promise me that 50 second head start. Oh and the curing your brother part too but as you said, that was in the cards anyway. I also can't promise that Abel will do business with you, the feisty fellow but what do you say, Moose? Deal?"

"How do I find Abel?"

"Do you think I'm that charitable?" Crowley chuckled. "So tell me deal or no deal?"

"Deal," Sam said, the words slipping out of his mouth a little easier than he liked. There was a click on the line and Sam felt the pain from his shoulder roll over him in waves. He also felt the guilt overpowering him again that he was agreeing to let Crowley go. Then he heard his phone sound and saw the text with Dean's whereabouts. He was on his way to take out some demons he saw as threats to his potential sovereignty. Sam knew Dean would also take out any hunters or bystanders that happened to be in his way. Sam saw he was going to Kansas, so close to home, yet he was so far away.

Sam rushed back to the bunker, driving one handed no easy feat. Once he returned, he hastily cleaned himself up and began pulling tomes off the shelf, reading until his eyes stung so much from strain, it was as if boric acid had been poured into them. He rubbed at them absentmindedly, so hopped up on adrenaline that closing his eyes in sleep seemed impossible.

His arm still dangled uselessly from his shoulder and pulling out volume after volume one handed was extremely challenging but he kept going. He realized he wasn't getting anywhere with the offering on the shelves so he started to comb through the piles of books on the floor. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but his frustration began mounting like the pile of books surrounding him. He was knee deep in books, throwing them around the room in dismay.

Finally he found something, just a tiny passage in a dusty book.

In one of the texts, there was a small picture of a lamb and underneath in Latin, it read:

_Once brother's keeper a promise spoken,_

_Two brothers side by side,_

_Now brother's slayer, a promise broken_

_Tears of blood the sky has cried_

_Now one will forever lack_

_As evil has rendered its toll_

_Two brothers back to back_

_Only a sacrifice to make him whole_

It didn't mention Abel but this had to be it. _Brother's keeper_. It all made sense. There was a symbol drawn there that resembled two people standing side by side but somehow, if turned at a certain angle, also looked like they were back to back, a paradox of an image. This had to be a spell to summon Abel, the Abel of biblical lore.

Sam read the words several times from the book but there were no instructions on how to make Abel actually appear, no ingredients to gather, nothing. Sam read the Latin until he was hoarse and he felt something warm streaking down his face. He was crying and he hadn't even realized it. The sense of failure again burned within him like a small inferno gathering strength. All he could imagine was Crowley mocking him for being so gullible, for actually thinking he could summon Abel.

He pulled the object out of his pocket and clutched it in his hand, his center. It was the one thing that made him feel like Dean was really there. He squeezed it so hard that his fingers bled. His blood and tears mixed together and spilled on to the book as he read the Latin again.

Suddenly the room began to shake and Sam trembled in alarm. What was happening?

Then suddenly there was a faint flicker as someone appeared before him.

It was a man, dressed in what looked like rags, and he was accompanied by a sheep. Sam almost did a double take when he saw it.

"Abe…Abel?" Sam stuttered. He clutched the knife, ready to strike.

"You called me." He said, in a timid, frightened voice.

This didn't seem at all right to Sam. Didn't Dean say that Abel was actually the bad guy? That everything he knew about the Bible was a lie and the little brother was really making mistakes but big brother had taken the fall? It seemed all too familiar and it made him feel again the intensity of the enormous burden he already felt like.

"I'm Sam," he said simply.

"Winchester," Abel said.

"Wait, how did you know that?"

"You are my descendent. Prophets spoke of your birth and how one day, both brothers would end the world but also save it. One brother would allow evil to corrupt him, but the other would lay down his life for him."

Sam stood there. Yes, most of it had come to pass but they'd made their own destiny too hadn't they? Yet he felt he never had truly escaped his own dark destiny. He'd allowed evil to corrupt him, even now he was unclean, and Dean had laid down his life for him, more than once.

"Like you and Cain? He sacrificed himself for you," Sam said, accusingly.

"No you must understand. It is not as you think. It is true. I made a mistake and allowed myself to be deceived by the dark one but then I realized I was wrong. When I learned of what my brother was going to do, I was going to stop him."

"Well why is your brother the one who is a demon then while you were sitting pretty in heaven?"

"I am not in heaven. I was but now heaven is in disarray. I am not sure how I am even able to appear to you."

"How did you get here?"

"I think it's because you called for me. I sensed my brethren's blood being shed and I am here. You must listen to me."

"I don't believe you. It's because of you that my brother is now a demon too."

"Please, I implore you," Abel begged. "When I discovered my brother's plan to sacrifice and damn himself to hell, I found out how to erase the mark. However he would not listen to me. He used the blade and slaughtered me before I could speak. He too had been corrupted by the mark and the blade. I can help you"

Sam listened stonefaced until he found himself considering Abel's story. It seemed plausible. Sam saw firsthand how powerful the mark was and how it could lead someone as strong as his brother astray. He also knew what it was like to make a mistake and be lured to the other side.

"I'm listening."

"There is an Enochian symbol that when etched will erase the mark. However, it has to be drawn in blood using a powerful symbol of love and sacrifice."

"What is it?" Sam said, suddenly impatient, wanting all the information he could have.

"It's personal to you. I was not even sure what I would use as I never got the chance to draw the mark."

Suddenly a warm peace filled Sam's heart because, unlike Abel, he knew just what he would use. He'd been clutching just a moment ago, and just as he always did, so hard sometimes that his fingers bled and already bore marks from it.

"I must warn you Sam Winchester that there is grave danger in this task. Are you still willing to accept it?"

"Yes," Sam said, without hesitation. There wasn't even a question.

Abel began to flicker in and out and Sam knew his time was short. He pointed in the book that Sam had used in the spell to the symbol as the one Sam had to draw. He only hoped it be enough for him to get it accurately as Abel flickered away.

"I must warn you that prophets foretold of one brother losing his life for the other," Abel said, before he vanished.

_Well, we're Winchesters. We do things our way._ Sam thought, resolutely.

Sam stood there in shock. The whole thing was completely surreal. He'd met Abel but was he telling him the truth? Who was the liar? Dean had never mentioned Abel trying to stop Cain. Perhaps Cain had conveniently left that part out. It seemed deception found its way in everywhere. He didn't know for sure, but he knew things weren't always clearcut, especially when it came to brothers.

He gritted his teeth as the pain in his shoulder became more apparent. He had to call Cas, let him know what was going on that he could now save Dean.

Cas answered on the first ring.

"Sam, are you okay?" He asked.

"Yes. No, well yes. Better than I've been in awhile," Sam said, fumbling for words. "I am going to get Dean. I know how to remove the mark."

"Sam, we've discussed this. That thing masquerading with Dean's face isn't your brother anymore. He's a demon."

"But he's still my brother," Sam shot back. He knew Cas was weak and damaged but he couldn't take this.

"He will kill you Sam."

"No, my brother would never hurt me," Sam said, sincerely and he hung up the phone. He'd planned to do it alone anyway. He knew Cas would be more a hindrance than a help.

That's how he had found himself at the emergency room because he needed to be functional and he needed a working arm to draw the symbol. He was right handed and if he messed it up at all, then it might not work. He had laid his head back down on the gurney and let himself drift a little. The nurse was right about the medication. It did absolutely nothing to take the edge off his pain but instead now he felt consciousness eluding him due to the intense pain. He saw Dean's eyes again when he closed his own and felt himself being consumed by the darkness. He tried to fight it but it swallowed him up.

TBC

Please take a moment to drop a note if you enjoyed or even if you have constructive criticism. I appreciate it so much when people take the time to write. Also, I hope you'll be back for chapter 2 :)


	2. Rather Hurt Than Not Feel

A/N: First, I am so sorry that it's been so long since I updated. I had a pretty rough November in terms of illness and stress. Then of course the Christmas season was pretty busy and hectic. I do hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! If I didn't answer anyone's reviews from last chapter, I apologize. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I adore them. I am going to try to get caught up on replies now that I have some time off. I will also be posting a new S10 Christmas fic shortly.

A/N 2: This chapter was very difficult to write because Dean isn't such a nice guy in it. I think on the show that Dean wasn't so much a demon as he didn't do anything truly evil. However, I chose to make Dean very much a demon in this fic and if you are missing regular old Dean, fear not. He will be returning soon. Please let me know what you think.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_I don't want the pain_

_But I rather hurt than not feel"-Skillet_

"Sam? Sam?"

He found himself being jostled awake by the doctor who was accompanied by Melanie and realized he must have passed out. For a fleeting moment, he was almost sure it was Dean's voice he heard. The sense of safety he felt for that brief second was immeasurable but now he felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him.

He struggled to get up but the doctor pushed him back down, shining a penlight in his eyes. Sam weakly batted his hand away, moving around his arm to get up in a sitting position.

"It's just my shoulder," Sam said.

"I can tell you have other injuries. Your face is a mess. Those cuts on your eyebrow and cheek could use some stitches and you most likely have some broken ribs."

"I just need my shoulder working, that's all," Sam asserted.

"We'll get you to X ray," the doctor said, exasperatedly.

The orderlies came for him with a wheelchair but Sam opted to walk instead. He knew the doctor was right. He had injuries everywhere, each step was a reminder but they'd heal eventually, maybe not perfectly but all he needed was workable.

Sam found himself sweating profusely once he was back in his hospital room, the x rays so painful as they manipulated his arm in ways he didn't want to think about.

Melanie once again offered him pain medicine as well as a slew of other things to comfort him that he couldn't even remember.

The doctor returned a short time later, holding his x rays in his hands. He put them up on the board.

"You see this?" He asked, pointing to two of his ribs that they had x-rayed. "Broken."

Then the doctor took out another set of x rays, this time of his shoulder.

"What about this?" He asked, gesturing to an area between Sam's collarbone and shoulder. "It's broken. You need surgery to fix this"

"Surgery?" Sam asked incredulously. He knew he had messed up his shoulder pretty bad but he didn't think he'd broken anything. He'd taken care of the dislocated limb on his own several times but after it repeatedly sliding out of place, he knew he had to seek help.

"Yes, assuming you want to have any use of your arm. Even with surgery, it's not an absolute that your arm will ever be the same."

"What can you do now so I can get out of here in the next five minutes," Sam responded.

Melanie visibly blanched at Sam's attitude. He gave her a sympathetic look but he wasn't changing his mind.

"Nothing that you won't probably sue me for malpractice for," the doctor said, shocked.

"Look I don't have time for this. My brother, I need to be there for him. He needs treatments and I'm the only one who can provide them to him. Can't you just slap a band aid on this and I'll come back?"

The doctor hesitated for a moment.

"I can probably slide it back into place again. It's out if you hadn't noticed. However, without the surgery, it will just pop out again."

"Do it," Sam said.

Sam couldn't contain the guttural scream that escaped from his lips as the doctor gently pushed his arm back into place. He was embarrassed at his behavior but he couldn't help it. He tried to mutter something to the doctor about the pain but then suddenly everything went black.

He came to on the gurney with Melanie nervously hovering above him, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead.

"You passed out."

"Again," Sam said, meekly.

To say that it smarted was the understatement of the century. Sam knew it was in place though because he could move his fingers ever so slightly. The doctor then wrapped his ribs and affixed him with a large brace that strapped across his back like a crossbow. His shoulder was firmly locked in place but he at least had some dexterity in his fingers, hopefully just enough to draw the symbol.

There was no way he could stay at the hospital for surgery. It would waste too much of his time and he couldn't imagine waking up without Dean by his side. Waking up in a hospital was always an awful feeling of disorientation but his greatest remedy for any ailment was seeing his big brother's relieved face and knowing no matter what it would be okay.

He recalled fondly when he'd broken his wrist that fateful day. Hadn't Dean just brought up that story to him? They were just kids and Dean had been dressed as Superman. Sam watched him jump, so gracefully, the red cape billowing out behind him. He believed he could do it too. He was dressed like Batman. He always chose this superhero because of his past. He was an orphan and he didn't need powers to save people. More than anything, Sam longed to be someone normal yet heroic like Batman.

His jump was not so graceful, as it was painful. He remembered the pain vividly, although compared to now, that pain was probably minimal, plus Dean had helped. He scooped him up in his arms, putting him on his handlebars and getting him help. He was pretty sure Dean _was_ Superman that day. Dean had retired the cape shortly thereafter, his guilt getting the better of him, but Dean didn't need that costume for Sam to see him as the hero he was.

"Take these for the pain," the doctor said, handing him a script. "Once you get things settled with your brother, you need to come back and have that surgery."

Sam just nodded.

"Take care," Melanie said, patting him on his good arm. Sam still couldn't understand why she was being so sweet to him.

"Thank you Melanie," he said as he left. It was the least he could do.

He was grateful that the doctor hadn't been stricter with him. He had hardly explained the reason for his injuries to the staff and he suspected the harried environment of the ER was on his side. He was barely out in the parking lot when his phone rang. Once again the caller ID said Dean but he expected it to be Crowley again.

"Sam," the voice said, simply.

"Dean?" Sam asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Don't sound so happy to hear me. This isn't a courtesy call. Seems Crowley had my phone so I went back for it. Then I found a few text messages. Seems the bastard gave me up."

"You surprised?" Sam asked, seriously.

"Not really. Have to say I am surprised that you're looking for me though."

Sam was taken aback. Did his brother really doubt he would? He'd said, "same circumstances" in regards to not doing the same thing as Dean before but he only meant he'd find another way if faced with a similar situation.

"You know where to find me," Dean said, before hanging up.

Sam knew. He did know where to find Dean and nothing was going to stop him now.

ooooo

Sam returned to the bunker then, arming himself with the demon handcuffs and reluctantly, some holy water. He didn't like when Jackson did this but he knew it _could_ be necessary, even though he really hoped it wouldn't. He also grabbed the demon blade, the thing he wanted to take with him least of all. He knew beyond a doubt, he wouldn't be using this weapon, at least not on Dean anyway.

He then pulled out his cellphone, confident that the bunker would prevent it from being traced and called the area hospital in Phoenix.

"I'm calling to check in on a patient," Sam began. This was the last thing he needed to do, needed to know, before he brought his brother home. "His name is Jackson and he has a head injury." He was reaching here but it was the hospital closest to where he had hurt Jackson.

"Who is this?" The receptionist asked. "We can't disclose that information over the phone. Are you family?"

"I am."

"Well I'm sorry. I still can't tell you this."

"Please," Sam begged. He knew he had called the right place. "I know they found him in an alley and he's hurt bad. I'm his cousin and my other cousin just died so I need to know he's okay." Sam figured if he threw in some pertinent details, they'd be more likely to believe his story.

Sam heard silence in the background and he wasn't sure if she had hung up on him or perhaps she was considering giving him the info.

"Holding his own, in the ICU, but that's all I can tell you," she said. "The only reason I'm doing this is because I can see how distraught all of you are. His mother told me about Riley. Hard to believe one son was just murdered, only to have something like that happen again. I heard Jackson and Riley were really close too, inseparable really. Must feel like one of your limbs is missing, losing family like that."

"Ye..eah," Sam stuttered, his voice catching. _It did feel like that._ "Thank you," he said, before hanging up.

He knew it was bleak, that in all likelihood Jackson might die. However, he couldn't let his guilt overcome him, not again. Jackson hadn't been able to save Riley but he was going to save Dean.

ooooo

The Stop and Snack. He pulled the car in front of it, trembling with anticipation that Dean was in there, waiting for him. It was the greasiest and grossest, if you asked him, diner in the area but Dean loved it. Even Dean had admitted the food options were unappealing, but if you wanted the best pie, this was the go to place.

He entered the restaurant then to see it deserted. There were signs of a struggle and a body with a gaping hole in its neck in a pool of blood was on the ground.

"Can you believe the service in here," Dean said, staring at him from across the room.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been staring at the dead guy on the ground, transfixed in horror that his brother had actually done this.

Dean was seated in a booth, a big helping of apple pie in front of him. However, it was barely touched.

"You cut one guy for taking too long and everyone runs," Dean continued, pushing the pie away from him.

Sam just stood there, frozen in shock. He wasn't even sure how to feel. He was both relieved and repulsed.

"One thing I miss about being human is the pie. I just don't like it anymore, can't savor the flavor. Know what I do like though? Cutting a guy's throat and feeling the warm blood seep through my fingers as I use it to make a demon call. It's better than AT&T."

"You need to come with me, Dean," Sam said simply but he knew deep down that Dean wasn't going not without a fight.

"And I have a lot of calls to make," Dean continued, ignoring him. "I have amassed quite a few followers. Surprised that your solitary brother has friends, Sam? Other than _you_."

"Dean, just come with me," Sam repeated, dismissing the obvious jab.

"That really doesn't sound like something I'd do. Maybe the old me would blindly follow your ass but not the new me. The new me makes his own rules. Ask Crowley."

Sam inched closer to Dean's table, pulling out the demon killing blade.

"What are you doing with that Sam? We both know you won't use it. We also both know that you can't take me on. You've seen better days," Dean said, eyeing his injuries. "I saw that guy get you pretty good in that alley. I found it…amusing."

Sam knew it was true and he even doubted he could take Dean on but he kept moving closer until he was parked in front of Dean's table.

"You here to take my order? I'll have dead Sam served up cold," Dean said banging the table and laughing that same hollow laugh, sending shivers down Sam's spine.

"Come with me," Sam pleaded again, trembling.

Then Dean jumped up in an instant, his reflexes amazingly fast. He then flung Sam telekinetically across the room. Sam had nearly forgotten that Dean had powers now, just like any demon. Despite this, Sam still couldn't see Dean as a demon. He was his brother, first and foremost.

Sam flew backwards and struck his back on the counter. He grunted as the pain radiated down his upper back and through his shoulder. The demon knife fell from his grasp and was just inches from his fingertips. Dean stood over him then, grabbing his throat.

"Dean, don't do this," Sam gasped as his vision grayed out. However, Dean didn't let go as his eyes flashed black again. Sam found himself staring into nothingness and the same feeling of disassociation threatened to take him over. However, he tried to grab the holy water with his good arm from his jacket but Dean grabbed it and threw it across the room. He clutched blindly on the ground for the knife. Then he had it in his hand and he sliced at Dean's arm.

Dean let out an unearthly yell and let him go, falling to the ground, clutching at his limb. Then he collapsed, lying there, still on the ground.

"Dean are you okay?" Sam rasped. He crawled over to his brother, stunned that he had to resort to using the knife on him. He had only sliced him drawing a small amount of blood. Maybe because Dean was newly a demon, the small cut had been enough to kill him. He leaned over his face, trying to rouse him.

However, Dean was faking it. He leapt up from the floor and was suddenly towering over him. Dean had not been able to do that for years but here he was, standing over him, a formidable foe.

"Misjudged you Sam about the knife. But then again I didn't because I knew you'd go all dewy eyed on me when I pretended to be mortally wounded."

Dean grabbed him again by the neck, lifting him up off the ground with inhuman strength. His feet dangled just off the floor. He weakly swung out his good arm to try to fend Dean off but his grip just got tighter. In that instant, he knew he was going to die and never, ever, not once, had he ever pictured Dean's face as the one delivering the killing blow.

Then just when he was sure Dean was crushing the bones in his neck, he dropped him.

"Too easy," Dean said. "I think I'd like a challenge. I mean who else knows my every move like you? All of the others were so easy."

Sam sucked in mouthfuls of air, not sure he was hearing correctly but Dean wanted to fight him and he knew he was hardly a challenge at all.

Dean didn't play fair though. Sam did know Dean's moves but in essence having one hand tied behind his back hardly made it a fair fight. They squared off but instantly Dean started landing punches, one after the other. Sam felt his nose break and tasted coppery blood in the back of his throat. He knew he had landed a few punches of his own but Dean didn't feel them. Dean punched him again, sending him sprawling backwards against a tableset, taking it down with him.

"You know what Sam? I didn't want a challenge," Dean laughed. "I wanted to make you suffer. A little bit of payback for all the times you left me to suffer. Do you think I forgot those times? I never forgot them. I just stuffed them down but being a demon has finally given me so much freedom that I don't care if you know anymore. I never _wanted_ to take care of you. I _had_ to. It was a duty, a job, nothing I wanted. You were a burden and you still are."

Sam just lay there, not wanting to believe it was his brother talking but it sure looked like him. The words stung more than the blows he had received.

"All that wasted time saving you when I should have ended you like dad said. I didn't have the guts before but I do now," Dean finished, advancing on him again.

However, Sam was ready. He pulled the other bottle of holy water out of his jacket and threw it on Dean. Dean once again yelped in pain.

"Guess I can't let you go, Dean. Didn't you always say to have a backup, just in case?" Sam said triumphantly as he got up from the ground. He inched his way over to Dean's booth.

"Always my little shadow Sam, huh?" Dean said, recovering. "More like a shadow looming over me, darkening my whole life."

Sam ignored him and reached for the first blade which was resting on Dean's table.

"Now, now. Get your own toys," Dean quipped, recovering. "But you never learned that either, did you? You're so God damn selfish! I never could have anything of my own," Dean continued, with much more malice in his voice.

Sam put up his hands then in supplication, holding the blade out to Dean.

"What? You giving up?" Dean said, walking over to where Sam stood. "That's cute, _Sammy_," Dean spat.

Sam noticed it was the first time Dean had used his nickname but there was nothing affectionate about it. It was said as a sneer.

Sam handed Dean the first blade.

"Want it to be quick huh? I was having fun too. Damn," Dean said. He took the blade in his hands and Sam watched as Dean's mark began to glow.

"Something biblical I think in this, huh? Me killing you with the first blade?" He said, savoring the power he felt, clutching the blade.

Sam reached into his jacket where he had stowed the demon knife after initially cutting Dean with it. He clutched the hilt in his hand. He knew what he had to do. This was his only chance because his brother was a demon and he had to stop him.

Sam reacted to Dean's ego trip. He lunged at Dean with the knife while he looked on stunned. However, instead of stabbing his brother, he threw the knife behind Dean who watched it fly behind him, lodging in the wall. Sam took advantage of Dean's sudden vulnerability and grabbed the handcuffs, placing one on Dean's wrist, the one that held the blade. Dean screeched, dropping the weapon. Then Sam affixed the other handcuff to Dean's other wrist. It was done. He had him.

Sam sat there for a moment, falling back into the booth, breathing heavily, letting himself feel the pain of his injuries, the physical ones but not the mental ones. Those ones he had to put aside.

ooooo

The drive back to the bunker was painful. Sam knew he was badly injured and even moving was an arduous task, let alone driving. In addition, he had to listen to another onslaught of Dean's hurtful words. He also found it incredibly painful to use the demon bonds to chain his brother to the chair, as if he was some common monster. He was so much more than that. Dean had grown quiet then and Sam wasn't sure if he was realizing that his days as a demon were over or if he was up to something. He found it incredibly damaging to not trust his brother like that because he was someone he trusted more than anyone in the world.

Once he had Dean settled, Sam went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He was a mess. His face was bruised and in the process of swelling. His nose looked deformed and he was on the verge of sporting two black eyes. Technically, he only had one good eye at this point as the other had swollen shut. He cleaned whatever he could of the dried blood. He then went into the Bunker's chapel, a recently discovered room in their endless home which seemed to have a place for everything.

"Bless me for I have sinned," Sam began, entering the confessional and doing the sign of the cross. He kneeled down and couldn't stop the grunt of pain that escaped his lips. His ribs were killing him. "I know what you're thinking. Him again?" Sam attempted a laugh, but then grew serious. "I really need your help. I messed up again, not that I haven't before, but this time, it's..it's…" Sam stuttered, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I let Dean down. Again," Sam continued, regaining his composure. "I'm sorry for never being able to do anything the right way and that even when I try to be righteous, I can't be and so many people get hurt. I remember all their faces: Kevin, Sarah, Robin, Jackson and that poor possessed man. I feel really guilty they are dead, and it's all on me. The words 'I'm sorry' are hardly enough and I should have been stronger. I know I will never be on the right path and am incapable of forgiveness." Sam felt like he was fumbling for words, somehow messing it up. "Please forgive me for not being able to express everything correctly to you, and to Dean. He thinks I don't care. I beg that you please grant me mercy and forgive me so I can help Dean. Dean doesn't deserve this punishment. I do. Please forgive Dean too because this isn't his fault. It's mine. Please help me to save Dean because he's one of the good guys, the_ best_ guys. You really need Dean fighting on your side," Sam finished.

_I really need him too_, Sam thought privately as he left the room, but he suspected he was heard anyway.

Next he began the process of obtaining the vials of blood he would need for the curing ritual. Waves of dizziness washed over him as he drew his own blood and he wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or the searing agony of his other injuries threatening to rip his insides apart.

He pulled the amulet out of his pocket then, the one he had given Dean for Christmas all those years ago, the one that Dean used to never take off, the one that Dean had eventually thrown in the trash. When he gave it to Dean, it was a symbol of their bond, a way to show Dean that he knew he was the only one he could count on, not their dad, not anyone. Dean was everything to him, father, mother, brother, friend, and soulmate.

He found himself choking back a sob remembering Dean's words.

_I love it, Sammy._

They were spoken with the utmost affection and love, so unlike the way Dean was speaking now. When Dean had thrown it out, he had retrieved it from the trash. He could never throw it away because it would be like throwing away their bond. He completely understood why Dean had done it. It was such a dark time in their lives but he'd hoped eventually he'd earn Dean's trust back enough for Dean to want it back. So many times, he was going to give it back to him but it was just never the right time. It seemed there was constant conflict between them lately and now he wondered if there'd ever be a "right time."

He took out the book and began using the sharp edge of the amulet to draw the symbol on his arm. It was excruciating. He barely had the mobility in his shoulder to carry out the task. However, at last it was done. He also inscribed the Latin under it: Num custos fratris mei sum. He inspected it in the mirror. It was a rudimentary drawing and the writing looked like scribble but he only hoped it was enough. _It had to be enough. _He pulled down his sleeve gingerly to hide his crude tattoo and then he slipped the amulet around his neck as a reminder of who Dean really was. Then he went back to Dean.

"You going to shoot me up with those?" Dean asked, when he saw the vials. He snickered. "Might make me more of a demon if you use your blood, tainted as it is."

Sam walked over and plunged the needle into Dean's neck.

Dean sat there stonefaced.

"Am I supposed to feel something? Are we supposed to have a huge chick flick moment now or what?"

"It takes time," Sam said simply.

"Might not be enough time before I break out of these chains and slaughter you."

Sam visibly trembled.

"Scared? You're afraid to admit it to yourself but you are afraid of me, your big brother, the one who once made you feel _so_ safe."

Sam was too ashamed to respond, even though he knew there was truth to those words. He had to stay strong. He left Dean in the room and walked out, closing the door behind him.

He stood there trying to level out his breathing but it was difficult with his injured ribs and shoulder. Again he used the physical pain to distract himself from his mental anguish.

Sam returned several times, delivering dose after dose to Dean. Each time Dean had something more damning to say.

"Sure this is purified blood Sam? Did God even accept that confession you gave him? I mean after all you've done? I know about the demons you tortured, but more importantly the people those demons were wearing that you hurt. You'd be surprised the way word spreads in the demon world."

"I didn't mean to hurt them."

"Spoken like a true psychopath. Tell that to their friends and family. I'm sure that will come as some cold comfort that you 'didn't mean it,'" Dean mocked. "I'd do airquotes and all that but I'm kind of occupied," Dean continued, elevating his hands as far as they would go off the chair.

Sam walked over and administered another dose. This time he thought he saw something, maybe a flicker of the old Dean flash in his eyes.

"I saw you with Jackson you know," Dean grunted.

Sam shoulders sagged and he felt his insides deflate like a balloon. Any small glimmer he saw of Dean was gone.

"I stayed behind for the whole show and the encore performance. I have to say, I was surprised at how quickly he whipped your hide but then I saw the true Sam come out," Dean continued, relentlessly.

"Stop," Sam said quietly.

Sam gulped nervously, feeling the guilt causing his heart to palpitate, as if it was pumping through his veins along with his blood.

"You were one callous son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Stop!" Sam exclaimed, louder this time.

"Left his brains splattered on the concrete like it was nothing."

He knew it was true so he didn't even protest. He was such a hypocrite. He had become angered by Jackson using the holy water on Dean, yet he had done the same thing. Now what was he doing? Was he even helping Dean at all?

"Know what the sickest thing is?" Dean went on. "The fact that you don't feel guilty about it, at least _not completely_."

Was Dean right? Yes, he knew he felt guilty but he had to admit that there was some part of him that was able to bury it down, to let go of the guilt, and focus on the task at hand. The whole thing was making his head spin and the dizzying feeling made him want to be sick. He held on to the amulet around his neck, trying to center himself.

"You okay there?" Dean asked, not an iota of compassion in his voice. "What are you doing with that?" He asked, noticing the amulet. "Didn't I throw that in the trash?"

Sam ignored him and jetted for the door.

"See you in a bit _Sammy_," Dean hissed again, as he ran.

Sam ran across the bunker to the nearest bathroom, his boots hitting the floor and jarring his ribs. His stomach churned so wildly, like waves sloshing over the sides of a wall. Once he made it, he viciously vomited up his stomach contents into the toilet but the pain was unbearable. He had no idea if he had internal injuries from the beatings he took but he didn't know how much more he could take physically and mentally. He slid down to the floor, panting in exhaustion.

After he had recovered to the best of his ability, he tried to administer the next few doses as quickly as possible and get out of there. Otherwise he was sure he'd fall apart and that was the last thing Dean needed. He saw it was taking more doses than usual and Dean was barely showing any signs of humanity at all. He had to draw more of his own blood and he felt his strength waning considerably.

When he returned for a 13th dose, he could tell Dean was feeling something.

"Dean, I know you're fighting it. Please I'm trying to help you."

"Why?" Dean asked, sincerely. "You didn't seem to care about protecting me before," Dean said, flatly. Then he let out a guttural scream as if he was waging war within himself.

"Dean, Dean listen to me," Sam said, grabbing Dean's arm. "Look at me."

Dean's eyes locked with his, actually establishing a connection this time.

"I know I haven't been there for you like I should but I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

"We were so close Sam. What happened to us?" Dean asked, just a hint of sadness in his voice.

Sam didn't have an answer except to say himself, as in, _he _was what happened to them. _He_ had messed up their bond.

Dean screamed again but Sam held on to him. However, this time Dean looked like he was in the throes of some kind of seizure. Sam debated letting Dean ride it out in his bonds but he didn't know if Dean might hurt himself.

Sam undid the locks, helping Dean to the ground as he thrashed. He was still yelling, sweat pouring down his forehead.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam yelled in alarm. He looked like he was dying.

Then just as suddenly as it started, the shaking stopped and Dean looked at him. However, Sam knew something was wrong. Before he could react, Dean lunged for him, squeezing his shoulder so hard that Sam screamed in agony.

"Please Dean. This isn't you," Sam pleaded. "You're my big brother. You love classic rock and pie," Sam rambled.

Dean had let go of his arm but then he began hitting him again, one punch after another square in the face. Sam didn't fight back, not sure if it was the fact that he was defenseless or he didn't really want to hit his brother.

"You don't like to admit it but you are the king of the chick flick moments. You love helping people and you..you love me," Sam stuttered and coughed, spitting blood. He couldn't see now, blood dripping steadily into his eyes. "I…I love you too Dean," he said it, unashamedly. It was something he hadn't said to his brother since they were kids, since it became uncool to express their feelings, since they mutually decided "bitch, jerk" was their universal way to say I love you.

Dean had finally stopped, looked like there was something happening within him, like some part of him had heard him. However, his mark was glowing and the blade was mere feet away. Sam knew he had to get up, had to stop Dean from getting the blade. He was stupid. In his rush to cure Dean, he hadn't thought of concealing the blade.

Sam crawled backwards away from Dean, over to the table, to try to get another syringe. If he could just get one more dose into him, it might be enough.

While Dean went in one direction, Sam went in the other. He grasped at the syringe just as Dean approached the table where the first blade was. With one last burst of energy, Sam got up, ran and plunged it into Dean just as he picked up the blade and swung it forward in his direction.

Dean screeched again, resisting it and Sam could see that between the demon within him and the unrelenting power of the blade that it might not be enough. However, he had the mark, Abel's mark, drawn by the symbol of their bond. He pulled up his own sleeve, exposing it, then latched on to Dean's arm, covering the mark of Cain with his own mark. Sam watched as both began to glow. He felt the energy flow through him, draining him but the connection was so strong, he couldn't let go. He wasn't sure he could release his grip even if he tried. He saw Dean's eyes change, saw the mark dissipating but where was the first blade?

Sam was so caught up in saving his brother that he didn't notice it, didn't even _feel_ it. He looked down and he saw it, embedded in the middle of his gut. Dean had stabbed him. When he brought the blade down, he had made purchase. Once he was able to release his arm from Dean's, Sam stumbled backwards, grabbing at his stomach, his hand wrapping around the blade. He moaned in torment, the pain calling to him, beckoning him to oblivion.

TBC


	3. The Bleeding Won't Stop

A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter of this fic but then it seemed to have a mind of its own and it just kept growing. If you were missing Dean last chapter, hopefully you will like this one. I apologize for the delay in getting this out there, but I had to finish Those Christmas Lights. The next chapter for this one shouldn't be such a wait. I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'd love to hear from you. See you next chapter!

* * *

><p><em>"Whenever you're gone away<em>

_The darkness hides the day_

_Whenever you're gone,_

_The bleeding won't stop-Skillet_

Sam resisted the urge to pass out and instead yanked the blade out, picked it up and took the one object that had wrought so much destruction and used it for good. He slashed it across his palm and tossed the blade aside. Then he took his hand and held it to Dean's mouth, reciting the Latin. If he was going to die, he was going to finish what he set out to accomplish.

He fell to the ground then, clutching his middle, as blood seeped between his fingers. He saw Dean falling to the ground as well, as his vision blurred. The mark was truly gone though. That much he knew and he looked at his own arm to see that his own mark was fading also.

Sam listed to the side, his body sagging to the floor until he was resting on his side, his cheek pressed against the floor.

"Sam?" Dean uttered, looking straight at him instead of through him. Dean's eyes looked like his own but maybe he was wrong. He sure sounded a lot like his Dean too but then again he couldn't be sure. It was all so foggy now, the room looking fuzzy around the edges. He couldn't move, his body finally too weak to fight anymore.

Then a look of uncertainty passed over Dean's face and Sam saw him get up, sneaking through the doorway, slipping on his blood, as he moved away from him. Sam tried in vain to move too but he couldn't get any part of him to cooperate. "Failed you," Sam managed, weakly raising his head. Then finally he lost consciousness completely.

ooooo

Dean came to suddenly, a feeling of disorientation pervading his mind. He was just outside the bunker dungeon without any memory of how he got there. He felt tiny stings prickling down his neck and arm but not much else.

He was lying on the ground, where apparently he had passed out. Then he looked over to his left and that's when he saw it.

Blood.

There were bloody footprints leading away from the dungeon.

He got himself up and dizzily made his way into the room when the unmistakable scent of blood hit his nostrils, so strong that it made his head swim. Then he was sent reeling by the sight before him.

Sam was lying there, a crumpled heap before him, blood pooling around on the floor next to his body.

"Sam! Sammy!" He yelled.

He didn't have time to question what was going on at all, not with Sam looking like this, ashen, his face beaten to a bloody pulp.

He rushed over to Sam's side and put his fingers to Sam's neck. Sam was icy to the touch but he could feel a sluggish pulse there. He had to find out where all the blood was coming from.

"Sammy," Dean said again, jostling his brother. However, Sam didn't respond.

He flipped Sam on to his back and saw that Sam was wearing a sling. Yet he had no recollection why, didn't remember Sam injuring his arm at all. He saw that the front of Sam's s shirt was covered in blood. He also saw the bloody hole in the middle of it. He lifted Sam's shirt and saw that Sam had been stabbed, a gaping puncture wound in the middle of his stomach, steadily bubbling blood. He had no idea what vital organs could have been hit or just what damage had been done to his brother. He inspected the wound more closely and nearly gagged when he saw how deep it was.

He grabbed Sam then, draping him over his shoulders and instantly almost fell to the ground as a flashback hit.

It was Sam lifting _him_ up from the ground as he gasped for breath. Did that actually happen? How did the situation get reversed? However, Dean shook it off. He had to get Sam to a hospital or he would surely die due to his injuries. He lifted Sam again, felt his brother's blood soaking into his own shirt, saturating it.

The trip through the bunker was arduous and it seemed like an eternity until he had made it to the car. He noticed the car was filthy but he ignored that too. He placed Sam into the front seat and checked his pulse again. It was still there although it seemed like it was getting fainter. Sam's breathing had also grown labored and sounded more like gurgling than breathing. He didn't know how much longer Sam had what with his insides threatening to fall out of him.

He got into the driver's seat and Sam began to slip sideways, almost against the door. Dean grabbed him then and held him against his side to keep him upright and to monitor his pulse and breathing. He saw that Sam was still bleeding profusely so he pushed his hand against Sam's wound. He put the pedal to the floor and drove.

They were about halfway to their destination when Sam faded on him completely. His pulse was gone and he was no longer gurgling like before. Dean contemplated pulling over and starting CPR but he wasn't sure how effective that would be so he just drove even faster, ignoring every rule of the road there was to get Sam to the hospital. He was surprised he wasn't involved in a high speed chase or a car wreck by the time he reached the hospital.

He ran inside into an extremely crowded emergency room. No one was even at the front desk so he angrily wrapped his knuckles against the counter and yelled for help as loudly as he could.

"My brother's been stabbed. He needs a doctor! He's dying!" Dean exclaimed. Every eye in the waiting room turned to look at him but he didn't care.

Finally a nurse appeared before him wearing a nametag that read "Melanie."

"My brother needs a doctor," Dean said, again. "He's in the car and he's bleeding to death."

She rushed off then and within a short time, a group of medical personnel appeared following him to the car parked outside the doors.

Dean yanked open the car door as one of the doctors reached in and checked Sam's pulse.

"No pulse. We've got to move quickly here."

They reached into the car and pulled Sam out, his limbs askew, as his body flopped as they placed him on to a stretcher.

The doctor pulled up Sam's shirt and grimaced, pushing forcefully down on the wound to stem the bloodflow. Then he put the stethoscope to Sam's chest.

"No breath sounds," he said.

Dean looked on in shock as the doctor literally jumped on the stretcher with Sam, straddled his body and began compressions. Next thing he knew, they were pulling Sam's head back and inserting a tube down his throat. They attached an ambu bag to it and started squeezing. Then the orderlies propelled the stretcher forward at breakneck speed, the wheels screeching unnaturally on the linoleum as they steered it down the hallway. He did his best to follow behind into the ER where he saw the nurse, Melanie, standing there. He watched as a look of horror came over her as the stretcher passed her. He saw as she hurried to catch up with the gurney as well.

Dean had no idea what was going on, but he didn't have time to ask questions as they whisked Sam away from him, continuing CPR.

ooooo

Dean sat in the waiting room, amongst a crowd of people, men, women, and crying children. Some were still staring at him. He didn't know if it was from his earlier outburst or the fact that his shirt was covered in blood. Now that the adrenaline burst was wearing off, he felt anxious. He realized he was also trembling.

He had so many questions but the biggest right now was whether or not Sam would survive. Finally the nurse appeared at the front desk and gestured for him to come over.

"The doctors are in there working on him right now," she said.

Dean recognized her as the one who had the very visceral reaction before when she saw Sam.

"Frankly, we didn't expect to see him back here so soon," she continued. "And in such a state," she said, sadly.

"Soon?" Dean asked, confusedly. She knew Sam?

"Yes, after his shoulder injury. Wait a second," She said, pausing. "Who are you?"

"I'm his brother, Dean. Could you tell me how he is?" Dean asked.

"I'm sorry but the doctor is doing all he can. He has grave internal injuries."

Dean stopped short. Grave? He didn't like that word at all. Too many meanings of that to ponder and none of them good.

"Are you the brother who was sick?"

"Sick?" Dean questioned. He felt like he was completely in the dark in regards to everything.

"Yes, when Sam was here last time, he said he couldn't stay. Dr. Joseph wanted him to have immediate surgery on his shoulder but he refused. He said he had a sick brother that he had to help with treatments."

Dean's head was spinning. So Sam had hurt his shoulder, ended up here, and told a lie about him? Why?

_But where was I?_ Dean had a feeling he was not going to like the answer to that.

"I assume it's you based on those needle marks on your arm," she said, eyeing him surreptitiously.

Dean looked down at his arms for the first time since the events unfolded and saw them too.

"Yeah..yes. It's me," Dean stuttered.

Melanie chewed her lip nervously, obviously as bewildered as he was.

"Just wait here," she said. "We already have information about Sam from before. Dr. Joseph will update you when he's ready.

Dean headed back in the direction of the waiting room, but then thought better of it. The atmosphere made him dizzy and he couldn't deal with any more chaos as it was. He found a bathroom and locked the door behind him.

He took a look in the mirror and instantly he knew something was off. His hair, which was usually clipped nice and short, unlike Sam's tousled mess, was longer like he had let it grow. He also had quite a few days of hair growth on his face. It was all so unlike him.

He recalled the flashback he had of himself being injured and Sam helping him. Maybe he'd been hurt bad and was in the hospital and that's why he had all the needle marks. Then Sam had taken on a hunt of his own, and gotten hurt too. Yet the pieces didn't add up. How did he wind up in the bunker with Sam and how had Sam ended up injured, this time severely, for a second time?

He looked in the mirror again and could see the needle marks covering his arms, and on his neck too, which explained the prickly sensation he had felt earlier. Had he been drugged?

What was the last thing he remembered?

The mark of Cain. A plan to take down Metatron. Pain. Sam's face. It was just glimpses, so slippery and fleeting, he could barely hold on to them.

Then suddenly he did a double take. The mark. It was gone. He checked both his arms carefully and in the mirror. It was definitely not there. How had he gotten rid of it? Had Sam figured something out?

Dean didn't have time to ponder it further as someone knocked on the door. It was Melanie offering him a pair of scrubs to put on since she saw what a bloody mess he was. He took them gratefully, peeling off his bloodied t-shirt and tossing it in the trash, not even wanting to look at how much blood Sam had lost. The pungent odor of the blood still remained prominent in his nostrils and he wondered if he'd ever be able to get rid of the smell.

He left the bathroom when he was finished cleaning up to go wait for word. He kept his head down in his hands, not really wanting to look at anyone.

Finally after nearly 30 minutes, Dr. Joseph emerged. He was a bloody wreck. Blood covered the front of his scrubs and a buildup of sweat had formed under his armpits, a sheen of it also accumulating on his forehead and upper lip.

Dean tried to read between the lines, predict what the doctor would say to him but his appearance and demeanor spoke for itself. Was Sam gone?'

He pulled Dean aside and spoke quickly.

"I don't have time to give you many details but we need your permission to operate on Sam. He suffered devastating internal injuries and we only just now were able to get his heart pumping again. As fast as we are giving him units, he is losing them."

Dean stood there trying to fathom how Sam could be without a heartbeat for over 30 minutes, but he just nodded.

"Is that a yes?" Dr. Joseph asked.

"Do whatever you need to do."

"Sam is already on his way up there now. We suspected you'd say yes anyway and we didn't have the time to wait to move him."

Then he was gone, a running blur through the ER doors.

Dean stood there dumbfounded. If they had only asked for permission as a courtesy, how bad must Sam's condition be?

_Bad, _his mind answered for him. Yet it still screamed at him to remember what happened. However, he wouldn't even let himself think about it for now. He had to just remain focused on Sam's condition.

The nurses had been gracious enough to move him to a smaller, quieter waiting room closer to the operating room. There were just a few people seated there, some looking as anxious as he felt, others looking relatively calm. He suspected the relaxed people had relatives undergoing minor procedures and not laying close to death on the operating table.

After what only seemed like a short time for the catastrophic injuries Sam had, Dr. Joseph appeared before him, gesturing for him to follow him. An empty pit formed in Dean's stomach because if it hadn't taken that long, the outcome was likely to be bad. Sam had probably died and they weren't able to finish the operation. Dean blindly followed him anyway to a small, inner office where he sat across from the doctor.

"We weren't able to fix everything," the doctor began.

Dean felt the room swim before him. His greatest fear had been confirmed. Sam was dead and he wanted to die too.

"Dean? Dean?"

The doctor was trying to get his attention as he spaced out, felt himself drifting from the horrifying reality that Sam was dead. Already the world felt quieter, darker, and more unbearable than before. Sure he and Sam hadn't been on the best terms lately and had their share of arguments, but he couldn't deal with Sam being gone.

Dean reluctantly locked eyes with him then, feeling a single tear slide down his cheek.

"We had to do damage control surgery. It was our only option."

_Damage control. _Dean almost choked on the irony because it's what their whole lives were about: fixing what they could, not making worse what they couldn't. He waited for the other shoe to drop for the inevitable words, _but then we lost him. _However, the doctor continued, rambling on with a bunch of medical jargon.

"Now we wait 24-48 hours and if Sam's stable enough, we try to repair the damage."

"Wait a minute," Dean said, grasping what the doctor was saying. "You're telling me he's alive?" Dean asked, more attentive than before.

"Yes he is, but barely. Damage control surgery is a last resort. We rushed Sam to the OR to perform an exploratory laparotomy. Sam's abdominal cavity was filled with blood. We controlled the bleeding we saw and packed it with gauze but he would not have survived an extended period of time of being operated on. His body is having trouble maintaining homeostasis due to the extreme ensanguination and he's suffering from acidosis, hypothermia and hypotension."

Dean looked at him, his mouth ajar. Ensanguination he knew based on the vampire nests they took down, but the rest? It might as well have been a foreign language.

"Look my brother probably could explain this to me in detail, the biology nerd that he is, but he's not here right now," Dean said, staring at him, a hitch in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Joseph said, sincerely. "To put it in laymen's terms, Sam's body is having trouble keeping a proper balance so everything is out of sorts right now. He is having issues with low blood pressure and low body temperature which is in turn affecting his organs and his blood's ability to clot. Unfortunately one issue builds off of the other. The extreme hemorrhaging caused Sam's oxygen to plummet which caused hypothermia. That problem is preventing Sam's blood from clotting. This is turn has caused his body to turn on itself and release acidic compounds into his blood stream. This could cause further damage to his heart and other organs. I understand it's a lot but we have him on a variety of medications to try to get him back on track so we can repair the damage caused."

Dean stood there slackjawed unable to even comprehend half of what the doctor was trying to tell him.

"So what are his chances?" He asked, his voice cracking.

"I'm afraid right now his condition is grave."

_That word again._

Dean gritted his teeth.

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, but I think you need to prepare yourself. Sam's appearance is disturbing to look at even for a seasoned professional like myself. In addition to his internal injuries, he has multiple rib and facial fractures including his nose and an orbital floor fracture. We have real concerns about one of his eyes and the potential for vision loss. He also still has that shoulder injury. Right now, despite the disfigurement, we will have to assess those injuries when we are certain that Sam has a chance at a meaningful recovery."

"You mean if he lives at all?" Dean said, curtly.

"I'll take you to him," Dr. Joseph said, skirting the question.

ooooo

"What happened to Sam?" Dr. Joseph asked on their walk to Sam's room. "With the urgency of the situation, I don't think you've been formally asked. We are required by law to report stabbings to law enforcement officials."

Dean paused, hesitating. The doctor was expecting him to come up with a convincing story? A lie? He didn't even have any idea what had happened nor the mental fortitude at the moment to concoct a story.

"I don't know what happened, but I already reported it to the police," Dean said. It was partly the truth. The last thing they needed was cops right now asking questions that he couldn't answer or probably had an answer that defied logic.

"Look," the doctor said, pausing in the hallway. "Sam seemed awful secretive the first time he came in. He didn't say too much about the nature of his injuries but he was pretty beat up. He never even mentioned how he hurt his shoulder. However, he seemed very determined to get to you."

_Get to me? Where was I?_ Dean pondered.

"Well I'm standing here aren't I?" Dean responded, avoiding the questions racing through his mind again. "He did make it to me, at the hospital. He drove me home later and then he left on foot to go get some food. He was taking awhile to get back and he wasn't answering his phone so I went outside to see if he was on his way. Then I found him like this on the front porch. I assume he was mugged. His money was gone, as well as his phone…and some jewelry," Dean added.

"Sam had to have been stabbed with a very barbaric weapon, serrated too, I'm guessing based on what I saw. Inhumane to say the least."

"A machete?" Dean queried.

"Possibly," Dr. Joseph said, frowning. "Seemed more primitive to me. But you told the police?"

Dean nodded.

"How come Sam wasn't brought here by ambulance then?"

"There wasn't time," Dean responded, impatiently. "I got Sam into the car and called them a little while ago while Sam was in surgery."

The doctor grew silent then and Dean had no idea if the doctor bought the story but frankly he didn't care. They went up two floors on the elevator and walked in the direction of the intensive care unit. They stopped outside of a room with the lights dimmed and the blinds drawn.

"I'll just leave you here," Dr. Joseph said. "I'll be back later."

Dean nervously put his hand on the doorknob, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. Finally he worked up the nerve and walked into the room.

When he brightened the lights, the sight of Sam before him almost sent him to the floor. The swollen mess before him that insisted on being his brother's face did not look like Sam at all. Sam's face had been swollen before but nothing like this. It was nearly twice the size with hardly any distinguishable features. One eye was completely swollen shut, the lid buried somewhere beneath more enflamed tissue. Both eyes were rimmed with black, his nose was misshapen and his lips looked like they'd been run through the meat grinder. A barrage of smaller and larger cuts littered Sam's face, some gashes pulled taut with sutures and others closed with a butterfly stitch. Tubes were just about everywhere Dean could look. Dean recognized the one running from Sam's mouth as a ventilator, keeping Sam breathing. However, he also had another snaking from his nose and IVs in both arms with numerous medications and donated blood suspended above his head on an IV pole.

They had taken off his sling, as Dean could see it wasn't much use to him now. Sam's stomach looked distended and bloated, and the most frightening thing of all was that there was also a tube running from Sam's stomach into some kind of pump. It was painful to see, so much so that it made his own insides ache in sympathy.

"Who did this to you Sammy?" Dean asked, aloud. It was all he could muster.

Just then Dean heard a tap on the door.

"Hi," the nurse, Melanie said, walking in the room. "I just need to check Sam's temperature."

She walked over and put the thermometer in his ear and then adjusted one of the IV drips. Dean watched as she walked over to a cabinet and grabbed an extra blanket from inside. She walked over to Sam, a lot more fearless than he was, and draped it over him, tucking it carefully around him.

"We need to keep him warm," she said, smiling but Dean could see it didn't reach her eyes.

Dean just nodded his head.

"I'm not going to let him refuse it this time," she continued, attempting a smile again.

Dean looked at her blankly.

"He wouldn't take a blanket before, you know, and I felt really bad," she said, clarifying. Then she looked embarrassed as if she said something she shouldn't.

"Huh?" Dean managed to grunt out.

"When he hurt his shoulder, I was his nurse. He wouldn't take anything, not strong pain medication, not even a blanket. These rooms can be so chilly."

Dean didn't say anything then, his eyes once again fixed on his brother's seemingly damaged beyond repair body.

"That's how I know Sam is going to be okay."

Dean looked at her again, reaching for any sliver of hope.

"I see a lot here and pain tolerances do vary. Sometimes we have people begging for a pain killer for the slightest of injuries. Now I'm not saying I can judge someone's pain but with your brother's injury, he had to be in agony. Yet he never complained. That's how I know he's a fighter. He was able to put his pain aside like someone on a mission and his sole focus was getting to you."

Dean looked at her then and he understood that her words were meant to be comforting but somehow Dean found they made him feel worse.

"He must think the world of you," she rambled on. "He had such faith you'd get better. I guess he was right. I just wish that this hadn't…," her words dropped off then but Dean knew what she wanted to say. Sam had saved him somehow but at what cost?

Dean caught sight of her clipboard then and noticed the words "lethal triad."

"Lethal triad?" Dean said aloud, alarmed.

She blushed, flipping her clipboard over.

"It's how we refer to Sam's injuries," she said, quietly, recovering. "It's what Dr. Joseph explained to you."

"Lethal?"

"It's called that because of the high mortality rate," she explained. "With Sam's system experiencing multiple complications and without properly assessing Sam's injuries in order to repair them, we can't know for sure how he'll do."

"What's that machine over there?" Dean finally asked, pointing to the small machine near Sam's bed that was connected to his brother's stomach.

"It's a negative pressure machine, for Sam's wound since it can't be closed yet."

Dean nodded, once again overwhelmed. His brother was basically patched up with gauze and tape and it was hard to comprehend.

"However, as I said, Sam's a fighter," she repeated, adjusting Sam's blanket again. "Hmmm…I didn't notice that before," she said, suddenly, glancing down at Sam's arm. "I didn't think he had tattoos, although this looks like it's fading."

"He doesn't have tattoos," Dean said, getting up, braver than he was before. Well he did have the anti possession tattoo but that didn't really count in Dean's eyes. He glanced down at Sam's arm, inspecting it, to see some kind of symbol there. He didn't recognize it, but it looked like it could be Enochian. However, the Latin was unmistakable: Num custos fratris mei sum.

"I am my brother's keeper," Dean whispered aloud.

_Was this how Sam had gotten rid of the mark?_

"I have to go," Dean said, suddenly, surprised at his own words. "The police want me to go make a report," Dean lied, the sudden need to escape overpowering him. He needed answers as to what happened and he needed them now.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Melanie promised. "The doctor told me they stole some of his jewelry but they didn't get this one. I'm not sure what it's worth but he was wearing this. Here you take it," she said, pulling the amulet out of her scrubs' pocket.

Dean was aghast. What was it worth?

_Everything._

He had no idea Sam still had this. He'd thrown it out, back when…

_I didn't care_. Dean allowed himself to think it because it was true. He'd lost faith in the two of them then and throwing it away had been his way of showing that their bond wasn't the same.

_But Sam still believed._

He clutched it so tight in his hand then brushed past Melanie without another word.

ooooo

He felt awful for leaving Sam there but he had to know how he had ended up like that.

He walked back through the parking lot towards the car. It was getting brighter outside and Dean could see that the car didn't greet him as it usually did, the sun gleaming off the top of it. He had noticed before how messy the interior was but even the outside was a wreck. There was dirt and mud all over it, again so unlike him. Even Sam knew better than to ever leave the car in that condition.

He drove home then, not quite so fast as when Sam was bleeding to death next to him, but fast enough in his urgency to get to the truth. This time when he stepped inside, he really looked around. Before, he had been carrying his grievously injured brother and hadn't noticed, but the whole place was in disarray. There were books strewn about on the floor, practically all of them off the shelf. He then saw that the bathroom light was on and he walked in to find bloody towels and antiseptic. He wasn't sure who had been cleaning themselves up but he didn't have any marks of his own on him, besides the needle marks.

He walked down the hall to Sam's bedroom and flipped on the light. Sam's bed was made up tidily and didn't look like it had been slept in at all. There was a picture on Sam's nightstand of the two of them and Dean picked it up.

It was a picture of the two of them taken a few years ago by Sam when he'd gotten a new phone. Dean remembered he was so stoked about the thing that he talked his ear off for nearly an hour about all the features it had. He'd explain they were taking a selfie and Dean thought he was joking at first about the whole notion. He was making his classic Blue Steel face and hamming it up for the camera while Sam smiled broadly. Sam looked so alive, such a contrast to how he looked in that hospital bed. Dean felt himself getting choked up and he quickly put the picture down and headed for the kitchen. The kitchen was also neat and tidy like Sam had barely ever eaten anything. Sam clearly had other things on his mind besides food and sleep.

He then hesitantly made his way back towards the dungeon where the whole ordeal unfolded. He saw the bloody footprints again, inspecting them more closely. They were not Sam's. He'd know Sam's trackmarks anywhere. These were his own.

He followed them back into the dungeon room where he saw they emanated from, a pool of Sam's blood.

Had he walked in his brother's blood? Away from him and out the door, but why?

He saw the chair in the center of the room then, too, complete with the demonic handcuffs attached. So they had a demon here.

Crowley?

Then he saw it on the ground. The blade. This time looking at it, he felt nothing, no dark desire to maim or hurt or kill. He went over and hesitantly picked it up. He waited for the overwhelming power to come over him but was relieved when he felt absolutely nothing. It was again just a bone, nothing special. However, when he looked closer at it, he saw it. Blood. There was blood on the blade.

_Seemed more primitive than that._

The doctor's words echoed in his head. Had Sam been stabbed with this? But who stabbed him?

He suddenly felt dizzy and found himself collapsing on the edge of the chair in the middle of the dungeon, the one with the buckles undone, the one with syringes surrounding it, littering the floor. As he leaned back in the chair, he felt something poking into his side from his pocket and he pulled out the amulet, turning it over in his hand.

Suddenly he was hit by flashbacks, of malice and murder. There were dead people before him, with him holding the bloody weapon.

_More like a shadow looming over me, darkening my whole life._

_Didn't I throw that away?_

They were harsh words spoken by him to Sam whose face appeared before him looking stricken. The sheer intensity of the flashbacks sent him reeling and he practically fell out of the chair. He found himself gasping for air, again clutching the amulet to center himself. However, another flashback hit just as swiftly. Sam running towards him while he held the blade but that's where the memory cut off. He tried in vain to recall it, to bring it back to his mind but he couldn't. It was as if his mind didn't want him to remember it. He shakily ran his hand through his hair and got himself up.

He left the dungeon, heading back over to the books. He paused over near one of the tables where he saw a name "Jackson" and a phone number scribbled on some paper. He didn't recognize either. He quickly dialed the number wondering if this Jackson person could provide him with some answers. However, instead of Jackson, he was answered by a receptionist at a hospital in Phoenix, Arizona. He thought of asking questions, but opted to hang up instead.

He began searching through the books. He waded through them, looking around. There was one particular text open to a page and Dean instantly recognized the Enochian symbol, jumping out at him. It was the same one on Sam's arm. He read the words before him:

_Two brothers back to back_

_Only a sacrifice to make him whole_

Sam had make a sacrifice but for what? To take away the mark? The book didn't say anything about that at all. However, if it was a means to get rid of it, why hadn't he willingly went along with it? Why had he left the dungeon? Didn't he want to get rid of the mark?

Suddenly there was a shrill ring that pulled him from his questions in his mind. It was Sam's phone.

"Hello," Dean said.

"Dean? Is that you?" Cas asked, incredulously.

"Cas?"

"Yes, it's me. I was calling to check on Sam. I'm surprised to hear your voice. Is it really you? I mean, the real you?"

"What are you talking about Cas? Of course it's the real me. I was hoping you could give me answers, not more questions," Dean responded, growling into the receiver.

"Is Sam not able to give you the answers you seek? Where is he? What happened to him? I was afraid of this."

"Cas, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

Dean heard silence on the other end.

"Answer me, man."

"I really think Sam should discuss this with you."

"He can't Cas. He's…he's…"

"Hurt isn't he? I warned him about this. I told him that you were dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"Dean, I..I…you were a demon," Cas stuttered and then said abruptly.

"What? Wait? How?" Dean asked, firing off questions.

"The Mark Dean. You took on Metatron and lost. He killed you."

"But I'm not dead, Cas—"

Then he was hit by the flashback again, of Sam holding him up while he was on the verge of death.

_I lied, Sam declared._

_I'm proud of us, he said on his last breath._

_He was fading but still aware enough to catch one last glimpse of Sam's devastated face, still able to hear and feel Sam's agonized sobbing into his shoulder._

"You couldn't die, Dean," Cas continued. "It was the curse of the mark. It turned you into a demon."

Dean nearly dropped the phone. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't _let _it be true. If he was a demon, then that meant he might have or he could have…

_Sam running toward him. Now much more clearly he saw a syringe in his hand. He held the blade, the mark glowing as the uncontrollable surge of power coursed through his veins like electricity_…

Dean tried to ride it out, but again the memory danced away from him, just out of reach.

"Dean? Dean? Are you still there?"

Dean snapped out of it to realize he had stopped talking.

"Yeah, I'm here," Dean said, hoarsely, his voice quiet.

"You went off with Crowley and…," Cas continued.

"And what?" Dean asked, not wanting to know the answer.

"You behaved like a demon," Cas said.

Dean could tell he was purposely giving him as few details as possible.

"Did Sam cure me?" Dean asked as suddenly everything came into sharp focus.

The syringes. The chair with the open restraints. It made sense now. Sam had cured him but it still didn't explain Sam's grievous injuries, although deep down…

"Do you feel cured?" Cas asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Well my eyes aren't black and the mark is gone."

"The Mark is gone as well?"

"Yeah, no cravings, nothing."

"How did Sam do it?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure," Cas admitted.

"Was Crowley here?"

"I don't know, Dean.

"Were you with Sam, Cas?"

"No, he went solo with this one."

"Why? Why wouldn't you be with him?" Dean asked, feeling his anger mount.

"I warned him to stay away from you, for his own safety."

"He's hurt because he didn't have anyone to back him up."

"He's hurt because of you Dean," Cas blurted out.

Dean put the phone down, taking in a shuddering breath. He had been avoiding the inevitable truth. Could it have been him? Had he beat Sam and ultimately stabbed him? He still couldn't sift through the debris in his mind to get to the truth. His memories still halted at the image of Sam running towards him while he held the blade so he held on to his small bit of denial. Maybe Crowley had been there. Maybe it wasn't him. Yet he didn't have any recollection of Crowley, just the evidence before him with unbuckled straps on a chair and syringes. He was the one strapped in that chair.

As much as he wanted to punch Cas right now, he was right. Sam was hurt because of him. However, Cas should have been there with Sam.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have said that."

"He had a…a tattoo, on his arm," Dean said, ignoring him. "Some symbol, Enochian I think. I found it in a book. Looked like two people and then there was the Latin, Num custos fratris mei sum."

"I am my brother's keeper," Cas said, translating it.

"I know Cas. I know what it means."

"There were rumors about this, how Abel tried to save his brother using this spell but it was always just a legend. Must have removed the mark once Sam cured you."

"Look Cas, I can't talk to you right now okay. I need to go be my brother's keeper and go be with him at the hospital," Dean said, curtly, and hung up.

He could tell the angel wanted answers of his own about Sam but he couldn't deal with that right now. He was pissed to put it mildly. He still didn't have the full story but right now his attention and sole focus was on Sam. He realized he hadn't even asked what happened to Metatron in the end or what was going on in heaven but it didn't really matter right now.

ooooo

He arrived back at the hospital, a renewed heaviness in his steps as he tried to think of what Sam must have endured while he was off gallivanting as a demon. However it hurt too much.

He went back to Sam's room, praying he'd see some improvement but Sam looked the same, swollen beyond recognition and still an impossible amount of tubes everywhere.

He approached the bed and tentatively reached out a hand to place on Sam's hand. He made contact but then jerked it back as if scalded.

However, Sam's hand was cold, not hot, just as the doctor said about not maintaining a normal body temperature. Yet he felt like he shouldn't be touching his brother, and it was as if he felt Sam reject him even though he knew it wasn't possible. Sam was deeply unconscious. However he felt as if after everything that had happened he didn't have a right to provide comfort to his brother.

Just then, Dr. Joseph walked in. He went over to Sam, reviewing his numbers on the machines in front of him. Then he lifted Sam's eyelid on the one eye that was still visible, shining a penlight into it.

"How is he doc?" Dean asked, when he was finished.

"The same," Dr. Joseph said.

Dean just nodded glumly, scrubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing though," Dr. Joseph said, sensing his concern. "We certainly don't want him to be any worse. Hopefully the medication will continue to stabilize him so we can operate soon."

Dean watched as the doctor left the room and fixed his attention back on Sam. After looking at his brother for several minutes by himself, he had to admit that he found it extremely difficult. The doctor was right. Sam _was_ disturbing to look at. However, what was more disturbing was the idea that he was the one who had done it. He felt he should say something to Sam, tell him he was sorry. However, that hardly seemed adequate for this situation.

_If Sam died…_

"No, no, no!" He found himself practically shouting out loud to halt the thought in its tracks. He found himself thinking the unthinkable and he felt like he needed a bottle of brain bleach to sear it from his brain. Had he really just considered that it might be better if Sam died so they'd both never have to face what had been done?

_What had he become?_

It made him physically ill and he balked at his own cowardice.

"Had to be Crowley," he said, making it his mantra. Surely Crowley would want him fighting for him and tried to stop Sam from completing the curing ritual. It was all he could do because filling in the blanks of his memory with himself holding the blade and stabbing his brother through the gut was too much for him to handle right now. Instead he sat there, hands tucked under his armpits, looking down at the floor.

For the next two days, he ran on autopilot, only getting up when his body demanded it, using the restroom and taking the proffered food, focusing on the chewing and the swallowing. He found if he focused on every little tedious aspect of living that it served to distract him from the memories that threatened to come to the surface. Also, avoiding looking at Sam by sitting at a table in the back of the room was a big help, but sometimes he was sure he could still smell Sam's blood, the odor so pungent that whatever he ate threatened to come up on him.

"Dean? Dean?"

He looked up to realize the doctor was speaking to him. Lately they had just ignored him, coming in with their focus on Sam's care. They came in constantly, taking Sam's blood, giving Sam blood. It was an endless revolving door. He knew Melanie had offered him other things at first but he'd only taken the necessities. She began to ignore him, recognizing that he was inconsolable and unreachable. He was detached and despondent so instead she talked to Sam, telling him that she thought he looked better even though Dean knew it was a lie. However, he was grateful because at least Sam had someone speaking to him as if he was still in there. He couldn't bring himself to stare at Sam for prolonged periods and now he wasn't sure if it was just the way he looked or something more. Sometimes he half expected Sam to wake up and turn him away completely.

"Yeah," He grunted, his voice rough from disuse.

"I think Sam is ready for surgery," Dr. Joseph declared.

Suddenly Dean was alert. He looked over at Sam who still didn't seem too well. He hadn't ventured too close but Sam's injuries were still very apparent even from a distance.

"Are…are you sure?" Dean stuttered.

"Yes," Dr. Joseph said. "Sam's blood pressure and temperature have stabilized and I don't think we should wait any longer."

"Okay," Dean said simply.

Dean watched as they put the brakes up on Sam's hospital bed and the doctor paused for a moment. Dean knew what he was doing. He was expecting him to come over and say goodbye to Sam, to say a prayer or something that he make it through the procedure. He also knew that it was what he should do but he simply _couldn't_ bring himself to do it.

The doctor cleared his throat and looked down at the floor, unsure of what was going on.

"You can wait outside in the waiting room," he said, at last.

Dean just nodded and made his way to the waiting area, the same one he'd waited in when Sam was first brought in. This time it was empty and quiet. Also this time, his wait was much longer. The more he thought about Sam on that operating table, the more he thought he smelled his blood again. The stench stung his nostrils and he practically gagged. Again, the flashbacks threatened but he held them at bay.

_Crowley could have been there or maybe it was an accident, _he told himself this time. He absentmindedly grabbed for a magazine and just flipped through it over and over again, the photos blurring into one another until he felt like his brain had turned off.

Suddenly he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and he saw Dr. Joseph standing before him. He hadn't realized it but he had fallen asleep. He looked at the clock and saw that 6 hours had nearly passed. The magazine was on the floor and his neck smarted from the position he had been sleeping in. He regretted falling asleep but was thankful that he couldn't remember his dreams. He shuddered to think what those could be like.

"Did Sam make it through the surgery okay?" Dean asked.

The doctor sat across from him this time on one of the waiting room chairs. He pulled his surgical cap off and ran a hand through his graying hair.

"Yes he did, but he needed a lot of work. His intestines were shredded in several areas so we had to remove part of it and redirect it to where there is better blood flow."

"You took out some of his intestines?" Dean asked, shocked.

"Yes, it was absolutely necessary. Sam also had an injury to his colon so we had to perform something called a colostomy. Part of Sam's colon has been placed on the anterior of his abdominal wall. There will be an opening there with a bag attached to collect waste."

"Are you telling me that my brother won't be able to use the bathroom ever again?"

Dean suddenly jumped up from his chair, resisting the urge to run out of the room.

"Dean, please have a seat."

Dean reluctantly sat back down, not wanting to hear anymore. Sam was alive but pieces of him were missing and Dean felt like pieces of him were scattered all over the place too.

"For the time being, fecal matter will have to be removed from the bag manually but it's not permanent."

Dean felt some momentary relief but he doubted Sam's chances.

"Sam has a long road of recovery ahead of him but he's taken the first steps. I also repaired some arteries and vessels that were damaged as well. We have closed the wound but we are going to keep Sam on the ventilator awhile longer."

"What about his broken bones?" Dean asked.

"When Sam is a bit more stable, those will be evaluated. He's in recovery now but when he's back in his room, you can go see him."

Dean nodded and leaned back in his chair. About an hour later, he was told he could go back to see Sam. He dared himself to walk just a bit closer to Sam's bed but he stopped when he saw that Sam looked the same. Some of the tubes were gone but his stomach still looked distended and his face was still puffy. He again went to the back of the hospital room to sit on his chair.

Melanie came to see Sam later in the day, all smiles that Sam had made it through the surgery. He could tell that she didn't quite get why he wasn't happier himself, why he refused to get close to Sam. However, she didn't press him for info.

Two days passed and Sam slept on. The doctor wasn't surprised given everything Sam had endured. Dr. Joseph and the nurses continued to come in and out. Melanie had remarked that Sam's face looked a lot better and coaxed him over to come see. He refused but the next day, he finally worked up the nerve to sit closer to Sam's bed.

This time he had to admit that Sam's face did look better. Some of the swelling had subsided and although not completely gone, Sam looked more like himself than he had in days. He was still intubated and unconscious but the doctor believed it was expected given the tremendous amount of trauma Sam had suffered.

Maybe it was the fact that Sam's face finally looked like his own instead of some stranger that gave him the courage or the idea that if Sam could heal that maybe they could get through it, but he reached out and put his hand over Sam's.

Sam's reaction was instantaneous and at first Dean thought, _wished_, he imagined it. Sam flinched under his touch. Then the sound of the alarms blaring confirmed his suspicions. Sam's one good eye opened a crack and stared at him. Dean couldn't be relieved, however, because this time his reaction was much more pronounced. Sam attempted to move away but the wires and bandages held him back. He was also weak so he didn't have as much fight in him. Dean tried to place his hand over Sam's one working arm to prevent more damage from occurring but Sam just stared at him wide eyed while the monitor beeped faster and faster. Sam tried to get away from him again but then he grimaced as if he was in an intense amount of pain. Dean watched in horror as Sam's eyes rolled back into his head and the machine began keening.

TBC


End file.
